


Falling Waves

by poisonouspineapple



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson-centric, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Not Robin, M/M, MerMay, No beta we die like mne, Self-Esteem Issues, death ideation, mer!dick grayson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonouspineapple/pseuds/poisonouspineapple
Summary: Jason Todd is caught in a difficult position when Black Mask's men capture Dick, the mer who's been staying in Gotham's bay and befriending a certain ex-street-rat.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 79
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy merMay! Enjoy this self-indulgent mess.

Jason knew something was wrong when he was told to go to a meet-up at the dock. He would have thought it was Roy’s poor attempt at playing a prank, or, worse, playing matchmaker between him and Dick, if the command hadn’t been handed to him directly from Black Mask’s second himself. Jones almost never paid Jason any attention, which was the way he preferred it, especially when said attention ended up with him heading down to the docks at one in the morning. There wasn’t any shipment scheduled for another week and a half and it was far more out in the open than, say, the warehouse only seventy yards behind them. No, this was where they came when they disposed of something - or someone. 

The feeling in his stomach wasn’t helped by everyone turning as he approached. Their eyes were more appraising than usual, sharp glances at the man everyone except for Black Mask had decided worked well as part of the backdrop.

“What’s going on?” he asked, drawing up with the rest of the group. It was small, only three enforcers and Black Mask’s second, Jones, and all four men dwarfed the nineteen-year-old in the night air. The world seemed to close in as two of the men, Benson and Eaton, slid behind him. 

“Jason,” Jones said, cracking one massive hand. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

Jason wracked his brain. Any slight infraction, any joke that could have rubbed a higher-up the wrong way. But his mind came up blank. Roy would be laughing his ass off right now; fast-talking Jason Todd, all tongue-tied when he needed his words most. 

“I ain’t done anything, Jones.” The words came out before he could process them, the accent he thought he had gotten rid of years ago reappearing. “Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t me. I swear.”

“We’ll see,” Jones said, gesturing Benson and Eaton forward. 

And Jason, well, Jason just . . . panicked. He whirled and brought a punch into Benson’s gut, kicking out at Eaton’s shin and dropping his weight, hoping he could at the very least swim for it. But Eaton fell with him and his bulk pinned both of Jason’s arms uncomfortably against wooden slats.

Eaton flipped him, beginning to tie his wrists together with rough rope. Jason was sure the man could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as sheer terror gripped his body and directionless apologies fell from his mouth. What was the point in staying tough when he was going to die in a moment anyway? He knew he shouldn’t have come. He should’ve listened to Roy, should’ve packed up his stuff and fled Gotham the moment Mask seemed to notice him.

The enforcer pried Jason’s mouth open and slotted a gag between his teeth, and suddenly the only sound was blood pounding in his ears, waves falling over each other to drown him. 

Trussed up like some golden pig, Jason was lifted over the water. Blocks were secured around his ankles, ready to anchor him beneath Gotham’s waters for a crime he didn’t even know. His mouth worked around the gag to protest more, as if he could change their minds. His eyes darted frantically back up to Jones, who was staring at him with an odd expression on his face. Jason did his best to stare back, to plead for some benefit of the doubt, but the man gave a single, sharp nod.

And then Jason was falling into pitch black, into cold, into jarring breathlessness. He writhed against his body’s buoyancy, trying to wriggle out of binds he knew he had no chance of escaping. Even if he had his breath back, even if he could see, his fingers were numb. He was well and truly fucked, lungs beginning to burn, thoughts trickling away. He was going to die down here, just another dumb street rat who’d gotten in over his head without knowing it.

He just hoped Dick wasn’t the one to find him.

* * *

Jones waited as the last of the air bubbles worked their way upwards, taking a few steps back from the dock’s edge. He had taken a gamble on this, but he had the feeling it would be worth it when all was said and done, and those were instincts he had learned not to ignore. So he sent one of Mask’s better men over and waited for him to drown. By his count, Todd should have about two or three minutes before they’d need to fish him back out.

He stared out at the water with Benson and Eaton, scanning methodically for some shimmer or aberration in the dark. The docks had gone quiet following Todd disappearing under the waves, and now they just had to wait. 

“There’s something in the water,” Benson said in low tones, pointing gently toward a patch not far from where they had dropped Todd. Jones squinted against the moonlight, trying to see what Benson had caught beneath the waves, but he couldn’t see anything. The mer must have been moving fast.

“Benson, you keep watch. Eaton, with me,” Jones ordered as he started walking down the length of the dock. He tried to keep his steps measured even as he could feel adrenaline surging in his veins. Eaton’s footsteps fell in line behind him, and they seemed to be just as moderated as his own as they made their way back. 

They walked in silence to the camp they had set up while waiting for Todd, Jones trying to distract himself from the guilt over sending the kid over the edge. It was odd; he’d done much worse things to much younger to prove himself to Roman, but he kept seeing Todd’s confused eyes, hearing his apologies. He’d have to talk to Eaton and Benson about not giving Todd a hard time when this was over, as well as keeping the night’s events private in general.

They reached the camp they had set up while waiting for Todd to arrive earlier that night. Everything they’d need was there, set up just behind the flattest surface they’d been able to find near the drop site. Benson hadn’t indicated that there’d been any deviation from the expected route, so Jones signaled Eaton to get to work with final preparations.

They continued working in silence, wary of alerting any other less-than-legitimate operations that were nearby or, even worse, their prey. Every clink of the net and splash of water seemed to echo across the water and into the night as they set up, and Jones could only hope it was just apprehension that made it so loud. 

About a minute and a half later, the silence was broken by footsteps. Benson drew up next to Jones as Eaton finished with his portion of the net, the dim light illuminating a large grin on his face. 

“It’s coming this way,” he announced softly as he took up his position behind one of the rocks near the clearing. “Maybe twenty seconds out.”

Jones’s heart was pounding as he took up his position. His hands had a slight tremor to them when he grabbed the cord they’d set up, a tremor he hadn’t seen in years, not since he had joined up with Roman, as he watched the coastline. Sure enough, he soon caught sight of two heads, barely out of the water, making their way toward the section of the coast they’d staked out. It was with a sigh of relief that Jones recognized Todd, pale and shivering, being dragged along in the glimpse he allowed himself before hiding fully.

He tried to quiet his breathing, forced to listen for what was happening. The water the mer was pushing out of its way got closer, suddenly joined by the sharp grating of a body on sand as it reached shore and pushed Todd up onto the beach. If he looked, Jones was sure he’d see that stupid shock of white bangs in his hair. There was a pause, labored breathing, and then a rush of water falling followed by more dragging. Jones was taken aback for a second by the realization that there was only one thing to explain the noise: the mer had dragged itself onto the beach.

He dropped the cord connected to the net in the water, instead signalling to Eaton and Benson, waiting on the other side of the clearing, to get out the extra net. They’d only brought it in case their primary one broke but this was a perfect opportunity. 

The mer was making quiet, soothing noises at Todd, and Eaton used the opportunity to hide the noise of readying the net. Jones risked a peek around the rock as Eaton worked, hoping to see the mer.

He could barely glimpse its face from where he was, and he would have been worried if he couldn’t also tell where its attentions were. There was no doubt it was completely focused on Todd, running a hand softly through his hair while it kept another hand on his chest. Todd’s chest stuttered on the way down and it buried its nose into the crook of Todd’s neck, seeming completely unaware of the danger.

Jones looked up to check on Eaton, who, on cue, held up the net. He nodded sharply, pulling his gun and emerging from his cover.

He watched as Eaton flung himself at the mer, one end of the net in each hand. The man wrapped it from behind and heaved it bodily away from Todd. A whine split the night air as Eaton rolled until he had the mer beneath him, pinning its arms and the crease of the net. 

It bucked, using its tail to pivot itself in an attempt to throw Eaton off, but the man curled his arms around its waist and held tightly. Benson dashed by to check on Todd while Jones moved to get the crate, dragging it down the gentle slope to the water. He submerged the side, tilted it down until he estimated it was about half full. 

When he was finished, he hauled it onto the sand and took a second to make sure it was stable. He got the lid and turned to Eaton, under whom the mer had stilled. It seemed to have figured out what was happening to some extent and had changed from a high whine to a growl as its eyes tracked Benson trying to wake Todd. 

Jones circled around so he was centered in its view. He crouched down. It snarled back at him, showing bloody teeth that took Jones back for a second. He looked to Eaton in question and the man indicated his arm. 

“Yeah, the bitch’s got mean teeth.” Eaton tightened his grip around the mer in obvious anger. It thrashed weakly, starting to pale as Eaton squeezed the metal of the net into its chest. The growling tapered off as red lines carved themselves into its body. Panicked eyes dashed around, flashes of bright blue in the moonlight. 

“That’s enough,” Jones snapped. Then, in what he hoped was a placating tone, “Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.” (He decided to ignore Eaton’s muttered, “Speak for yourself,” for the time being.) “This’ll only be as hard as you make it, okay?”

He wasn’t sure if the mer understood his words, but he was hoping the tone would get his point across. He had no idea how fragile the creature was, hadn’t even really taken a second to look at it, and wanted to avoid force as much as he could. 

It seemed to work, the muscles of the mer’s back loosening. Jones could still feel the glare on him as he stood, but at least it had stopped struggling. 

Suddenly, there was a sharp intake of breath, and Jones turned just in time to see Todd, whose brain obviously hadn’t realized he was no longer in the process of drowning, jerk awake. 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” he asked groggily, Benson moving behind him to help prop him up. Jones was the slightest bit ashamed when Todd saw him and froze. “Jones? M’not dead?"

The mer let out a light, almost questioning coo, as its eyes locked onto Todd, and the poor kid jumped again. He looked so confused as he struggled to choose who to focus on. Of course, in the end, they settled on the mer. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, voice clearer but still laced with concern. 

“Sorry we did that to you, Todd, but we’d heard rumors there was a mer around, fancies itself some sort of hero. If it helps, we were monitoring you the whole time.” 

Todd’s mouth hung open like some kind of fish, and didn’t that make Jones want to laugh, but he seemed awake and aware enough. 

“Get him a blanket,” Jones ordered Benson as Todd began to shake slightly. He then turned back to Eaton, who had managed to tie the mer’s arms together behind it and turned it onto its back. It was still staring at Todd, face pinched tightly with what Jones assumed was pain. 

He moved himself to the tail, trying resolutely to ignore his desire to examine it. He still marveled at the translucence of the fins as he approached them, the shades peppering each individual scale as he debated where to grab them, despite his best efforts.

“Ready?” Eaton asked, having moved to grasp under the mer’s arms. It snapped up at him and he stuck out a finger to dig into one of the grooves the net had left. The bite marks on his arm stood out in the moonlight. 

Jones nodded, moving forward and grabbing just above the tail fin. He could feel muscle tensing beneath his fingers, but the mer seemed to think better of thrashing, allowing Jones and Eaton to lift and lower it, bending its tail to fit into the crate. Eaton dropped its shoulders to fetch the lid and, while the mer didn’t move to attack Jones, its blue eyes stared back up at him with confusion. But then Eaton was back, Jones loosened his grip, and the lid was slammed down. 

“What are you doing with him?” Todd asked as Benson and Eaton carried the crate away. As it passed by, Jones could hear banging, scratching, thrashing on the inside. By the pallor that reset itself over Todd’s face, he heard it too. 

“Mask has been facing some…issues recently,” Jones told him, “and I think this is just the prize to cheer him up. What happens to it after we hand it over, well, that’s up to him.”

Jones tried to get some sense of what Todd was thinking from the corner of his eye, but the kid had reined in his obvious fear from earlier, replaced by a face that only had a tightening of his jaw.

“Don’t worry, Todd; you’re still in good standing with Mask. If anything, he’ll like you more after this. Now c’mon,” Jones walked past Todd, crooking his fingers in command for the younger to follow him. “You can ride with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments or kudos; you all made my week and I hope this chapter does your expectations justice!

Midnight found Roman Sionis pouring over maps and papers at his desk in a way he hadn’t had to do since he’d established himself in Gotham. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out where his shipments were disappearing to, and it seemed nobody around knew either. The sellers all swore up and down it had left on schedule and, as much as it frustrated him, Roman was inclined to believe them. If it had been just the one, he would have marched overseas himself and demanded an explanation, but it was all across the board. Roman’d had some of his more trusted men scout warehouses along the docks to see if anyone was redirecting the shipments, but so far no one had managed to find anything suspicious, so he was left looking for other places they could have been spirited off to. Just pulling his old maps out again had given him a headache, or maybe it had just reminded him of the headache of a situation he currently found himself in. Either way, the knock on his door was a sharp and unwelcome disturbance.

“What is it now?” Roman growled. His hand itched to grab his gun and make an example of what happened when he was bothered, but instead he locked eyes with his second as the man eased the door open and strode straight to the desk.

“I have something you might be interested in, Boss,” Jones said. The man had the audacity to be holding onto a grin, like a cat that had caught a canary, like he hadn’t realized that Roman had holed himself up in this god-awful office for a reason and it wasn’t to give his second a chance to intrude. 

Roman’s finger twitched again, but he stood instead.

“I have Batman breathing down my neck, shipments vanishing left and right, a couple hotshots who think they deserve a shot at my chair, and you think I’m interested in whatever you have to show me?” He rested his knuckles on his desk and leaned forward. “Unless it's a crate full of AKs, I couldn’t give less of a damn!”

Jones, to his credit, stood firm. Roman always liked that about him, but right now the way his grin grew and the steady jerk of his fingers forward in signal were more annoying than pleasing. Open defiance that would have to be dealt with later. 

Two of the men who had entered behind Jones tugged at something Mask hadn’t seen before, a metal crate that scraped the ground far too much, until it was just before the desk. Roman cocked an eyebrow as he heard banging from the inside and leaned forward a bit more. 

“I really think you’re gonna like this, Boss.” Jones smiled, leaning down and unlatching the locks on the lid. The top fell away, revealing a man bound and trussed in about a foot and a half of water. He jerked as the lid was removed, thrashing viciously against the sides of the crate before merely leveling a glare at Jones. 

Roman didn’t like that look in his eyes, or in anyone who hadn’t sworn allegiance to the Black Mask. Defiance bred trouble. 

“We pulled him out of the bay, Boss,” one of the men behind Jones spoke. He wasn’t new, but he also wasn’t around enough that Roman knew him beyond mere recognition. 

“More like wrestled,” a second man, Eaton, added, voice heavy with spite. He flashed his forearm which was swathed in white bandages.

“Is that so?” Roman asked with eyebrows raised, getting out from behind his desk and approaching the crate. He waved his men off. They seemed reluctant to back away, obviously wanting a better look for themselves, but listened. The man’s eyes tracked them as they left before snapping to Roman for the first time as he approached. 

Roman stopped next to the edge of the crate and locked eyes with the man, who bared his blood-coated, and surprisingly sharp, teeth proudly. Roman studied the man’s face a bit more, watching that false confidence fade into concern as he paused, trying to determine what Jones thought so special about this man. A snitch of some sort, perhaps, he thought as his eyes trailed down the man’s torso. 

But then they caught sight of something shiny, and he couldn’t help the sharp uptick of his lip into a smile before lifting his foot and, in one smooth motion, shoving the crate onto its side. Water came spilling out and across his carpet, but that could be cleaned up later. Far more important was the now-fully-exposed man or, more appropriately, it would seem, merman. 

As the water drifted away, Roman could see more clearly gills fluttering on the mer’s neck in futile efforts to draw in air, layer after layer of delicate scales cascading from its taut midriff, mangled at the edges. Put up quite a fight, then. Just as it was doing now, trying to wriggle away from its position on the floor but only managing to turn onto its stomach. Its tail, which even Roman had to admit was a beauty to behold, thrashed, unable to do anything other than shine in the light. Roman wondered briefly if his new pet needed water to breathe as its movements became more listless, but the rise and fall of its chest was still strong, if a bit rapid.

Roman allowed the mer a moment to understand how truly out of its element it was, listening to the wet sound of its tail slapping desperately against the floor that filled the room, the scrape of scales against tile every time it was pulled back, even as the sharp tang of saltwater assaulted his nose. Everyone else was standing in silence by the door, perhaps just as entranced by the panting, or maybe by those bright blue eyes that were darting around the room as exhaustion forced it to still. 

He was satisfied to see them lock onto him as he took a step forward, and there was a twitch of life at the end of the tail as if the mer had tried to move but couldn’t muster the effort it would take, instead just flopping those delicate fins again.

He used the toe of his boot to turn it onto its bound arms as he reached it, then pressed his foot down against the ribs there. He could feel the muscles renew their struggling beneath him and held back a chuckle at the idea of such a seemingly formidable creature writhing beneath his boots. He’d have it kissing them soon enough. 

“Listen here,” he said, leaning down, moving to put more weight on his raised foot. The mer gave a small gasp as something shifted. “I don’t know if you can understand this, but you belong to me now. Your life is mine. This precious tail that makes you so special,” here he trailed his fingers deliberately across several larger scales and tugged on one with sharp motions, the mer stilling at the threat, “I can do whatever I want with it.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with you yet,” he said, leaning in even further. Mouth almost against the soft flesh of the mer’s cheek, he let his own feral grin slip onto his face. “But I’m sure we can find something, hmmm?”

With that, Roman stood, kicking the mer over with the toe of his boot as it began coughing. 

“Find somewhere to keep it,” Roman ordered his men. “And I don’t want word of it getting out, understand? Not before I’m ready.” 

He didn’t need to threaten them. They had all seen what happened if they disobeyed.

All four nodded. Todd left the position he had taken up by the door and grabbed the lid. Eaton and the other man who had handled the mer earlier rushed over to grab it again; it didn’t fight as it was raised. 

“Are you sure all that was necessary?” Jones asked in a low whisper from Roman’s side. He didn’t need to look to know the other man was eyeing the fluttering gills, the droop of those tail fins. They were mesmerizing. “It’s not like it can do anything to you.”

“I won’t tolerate insubordination,” Roman said. “Not even from my pets.”

“So you have decided what you’re doing with it?” They both watched as the crate’s lid was placed back on and the mer carried out of the room.

“See what it would cost to put a tank in,” Roman told Jones. It didn’t really matter; he’d pay it for the opportunity to put the mer on display. _His_ mer. He couldn’t wait to see it in the water, in a habitat he had chosen for it. The thought brought a smile to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too bad; I've been staring at it for the past three days. Next update probably won't be as fast, unfortunately, even if I take out the staring.
> 
> Any thoughts are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does have a bit of self-degradation, misplaced blame, and thoughts that lend toward suicidal or self-harming. I'm updating the tags, but please be aware.

They got Dick set up in a warehouse with only the tank, and a chair and bathroom for the shift guards. Jones decided it’d be better to limit the number of people who knew about the mer than double up on guard duty, so they were pulling in shifts of eight hours each. Mask dropped all their other duties for the time being, meaning Jason currently split his time between Dick and his apartment most days. He was always at the warehouse at 4:00 PM exactly to switch out with Eaton, who had a habit of shooting Dick dirty glances when he thought no one was looking. 

There was a grate anchored over the top of the tank, and Dick couldn’t talk without painfully pressing his face against it, so most of the time Jason talked for the both of them. It was strange, really. Dick was so naturally talkative that even when Jason was talking he couldn’t help but make small noises of recognition. Now, Jason could see Dick still trying to make them, to comfort him, but they got swallowed up in the water. While Jason couldn’t understand Dick through the water, they had quickly established that Dick could understand most of Jason’s words when he was right up next to the glass. Any farther away and they quickly got muddled. 

Jason was using that to his advantage right now, having walked a foot or so from the tank and allowing his words to be whisked away by the water as they tumbled out of his mouth. He wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying, not fully, at least, his mind seemingly having distanced itself as he paced and ranted. It was distracting, in a sense, not having anything to do other than watch Dick. Roy worked alternate shifts, and Jason didn’t really have anyone else he could talk to about the current situation, meaning he currently bounced between Dick and worrying about Dick. And feeling bad for wishing he could somehow forget about Dick for a minute, can’t forget that. 

There was also the ever-nagging feeling that he needed to do something, and he knew he did, but he had no idea what that could be. He’d love to call up Roy, have him haul his ass to the warehouse, and leave with Dick in tow. But they couldn’t go anywhere that Mask wouldn’t easily find them. That’s how every situation Jason could think of ended; Jason and Roy dead, and Dick back to where he started. 

This entire thing was so fucked.

He was pulling at his hair when he noticed a flash in the corner of his vision. It was Dick, watching with worried eyes from right up against the glass, hand beckoning in clear request. Jason had put that look there, of that he had no doubt. 

When he reached the tank, Jason gently rested his palm against the glass over Dick’s and leaned his forehead in. 

“I’m so sorry, Dickie,” he whispered. “This is all my fault.”

He raised his eyes to look at Dick. The mer was staring back at him with nothing but concern, the corners of his mouth turned into a small frown. 

Jason stood back to let Dick look him over better, knowing how much the other night must have scared him. Jason had only seen Dick’s overprotective side a couple of times when an operation had turned sour, and he knew the mer took comfort from touch. Those previous times, Dick had pulled himself up onto the rock despite Jason’s protests, curling up against him and happy to just stroke a hand through Jason’s hair until his tail became uncomfortably dry. He had layered every inch of himself against some patch of Jason as if he could keep the outside world out, and Jason had been more than happy to let him. 

If he could right now, Jason would jump into the tank with Dick in an instant and keep the mer company until he had to come up for air, but he needed to try to keep any signs of a prior relationship with Dick under wraps if he wanted to get them out of there. As far as he could tell, he’d been used as bait because they thought Dick would be more likely to respond to someone younger, and he didn’t want to undercut that idea, especially if he could continue to use it. If Mask thought Dick had a soft spot for Jason because of his age, he might be allowed to see the mer more often. But if he knew they had met each other previously, Jason wouldn’t put it past him to try to use it to coerce Dick. Into what, he didn’t know, but Jason had already been the source of enough pain. He didn’t want Dick going through any more on his behalf. 

“Don’t you understand?” he demanded. “None of this would have ever happened if you hadn’t met me.”

Dick flinched back at the words like he had been stung. And why wouldn’t he? That was the truth when you boiled it down. If Jason hadn’t gotten lucky for one _goddamn_ time in his life, he probably wouldn’t even have been in Gotham to be a lure. Even if he’d stayed, Dick wouldn’t have come for him. Why would he, for just another street rat? No, all that power, grace, charm, wouldn’t have dropped shit if he hadn’t heard Jason’s screams that night. 

Not for the first time, Jason wished he’d just kept his damn mouth shut and let Jones chuck him over.

He looked up at the slight echo of Dick grabbing the grid at the top of his tank. He didn’t know when he had looked away in the first place, but at some point Dick had gone from concerned to downright furious, and it was a sight Jason wasn’t entirely sure how to reconcile with the image he had of the mer. Sure, he had seen Dick fight against Eaton that night on the beach, but that was all blurry impressions, really, and he’d distanced himself as far from Dick as he could manage while they were in Mask’s office. 

Neither image could really compare to Dick right now, grabbing the bars with fingers clenched until they turned white, muscles almost shaking with anger as he pulled himself up to speak. His breaths were artificially slow. His eyes seemed like they had turned a different shade entirely as he fixed them onto Jason.

“Don’t you ever think that again,” he said, just loud enough for Jason to make it out. His tail flicked in obvious agitation. 

“But I-”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dick asserted, dropping back into the water. The imprint of the grate was pressed into his left cheek, and Jason wished he could smooth it out. The anger was fading now, he could tell, but Dick was still staring at him, eyes pleading.

Jason knew what he was waiting for and gave in with a sigh. “It’s not my fault,” he said. The words felt wrong coming off his tongue, heavy. He hated lying to Dick. “Okay, Dickie?”

Dick visibly deflated at the words, pressing himself into the glass opposite where Jason was in obvious request. Jason was happy to comply.

If this had been a week ago, Dick would have wrapped Jason into a hug. His chin would be resting on Jason’s hair while his fingers trailed through individual strands, ensuring Jason would smell like salt water for the rest of the day. Dick would have purred to calm him down despite the fact that Jason had laughed for five minutes the first time he’d tried it. 

Jason pressed his forehead against the glass. “I miss you, Dick.” 

It came out as a whisper, his voice cracking on the final word, but he knew Dick could hear it.

Dick placed his face squarely in front of Jason before opening his lips and mouthing, ‘Miss you too.’

This, Jason realized, must be the sappiest moment he’d ever allowed himself to date. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

* * *

After the first couple of days, it was clear Dick hadn’t been sleeping well. He was obviously on guard and staring into every dark corner of the warehouse even though they hadn’t changed at all since he’d been there. Jason couldn’t blame him, but at the same time it hurt a bit every time Dick jolted from where he was drifting off to scan his surroundings. It hurt to think of all the times Dick had fallen asleep against him without a second thought. 

The third time he saw Dick forcibly wake himself up, he pressed his face against the glass again. Dick blinked at him with tired, pained eyes that still somehow managed to gleam with curiosity. 

“It’s okay, Dickie,” he said softly. “You can sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

He pulled back when he was finished, knowing there was no way for Dick to comfortably talk back to him, just in time for Dick to send him a small smile. It looked painfully forced on Dick’s paling face and Jason wished the mer wouldn’t worry so much about how _Jason_ was feeling right now. Jason could pack up and leave if he thought he needed to. (He couldn’t really, knowing he had left Dick behind would haunt him until the end of his days regardless of any circumstances that could force him away, but he wasn’t in near as much danger as Dick.)

Jason watched as Dick pushed himself down to the bottom of the tank, curling around himself until he was a small coil on the bottom, face pushed toward the fold in his tail instead of toward the outside world. It didn’t look remotely comfortable, but then again, Jason realized, he had no idea how Dick normally slept underwater. He’d seen him lounge about in the sunlight, doze off with his head pillowed in his arms or against Jason’s chest, but he’d never actually seen how Dick slept in his domain. 

Jason pulled the chair up beside the tank and sat quietly, watching the gentle rise and fall of Dick’s torso. It was oddly calming, tracing the line of Dick’s chest with his eyes, trying to match his breaths. 

All too soon, Dick was stirring, gracefully unfolding his limbs like aching muscles were a myth. He blinked sleepy eyes at Jason, who smiled back at him with a smile he didn’t feel. 

It went like this for days: Jason came in every night at 4:00 and ate dinner next to Dick. When they were finished eating, Dick curled in on himself and started to doze off. Jason watched the mer, silence filling the warehouse, until just before midnight, when he woke Dick up before Jones got there. 

One day, he brought a book, and Dick looked at him with question clear in his eyes, so Jason cracked it open and started to read aloud. He doubted Dick could hear much more than faint mumbles through the water, but when he looked over to check, Dick had dozed off with a slight smile on his face. 

Looking at him, Jason’s chest felt tight. He knew Dick wasn't happy. There was no way he could be, stuck in a meager tank when he loved dashing through the water, isolated when he loved contact. But sometimes it’d be almost too easy to pretend. To take these hours with Dick and enjoy the peaceful look on his face as he slept. To imagine waking up to that each morning, and getting to watch until those eyes opened with a smile. 

Then Dick would wake up in a panic as he tried to stretch and couldn’t, or Jason would see the way he stiffened at the shift change, and any illusion of domesticity Jason may have had was shattered. Even the hours Jason had been able to alleviate for Dick would be over soon; Jones hadn’t given an exact date that the tank should be finished by, and the thought loomed over Jason’s head as he left Dick every morning. _What if they decided to move Dick that afternoon? Would he be able to see him at all once Mask had him moved?_

His answer came far too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long; obviously updates aren't going to be happening every other week. I seriously underestimated summer courses. (I also wrote the entirety of this chapter from Dick's POV to get a better feel of it, so maybe that had something to do with it. We'll see.) I don't want to make any promises about when the next chapter might be up, but I will say that I'm very open to suggestions about what people want to see in terms of individual scenes or even POVs.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone reading; any thoughts are appreciated! 
> 
> (To everyone who commented on the last chapter: I read them as you post them, and thank you so much for taking that time. I'm sorry a response has taken so long.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments; even though I've been terrible at responding, every time I see one it makes my day!

Roman stared at the tank that had been placed over his back office wall. He’d spent far more time on the decor than he had intended to, but it had become a bit of a hobby as the base tank itself was under construction. With a picture of his mer in hand, he had debated exactly what type of rocks would best highlight its coloration, the best variants of kelp. It was the closest to domestic he would ever get, but his efforts seemed to have paid off as he examined it. His men had finally finished setting it up to his specifications and now it stood behind his desk, just waiting for its occupant. 

“Bring it in,” he called to Jones, who was stationed at the platform above the top of the tank, almost hidden behind a drop ceiling. The man nodded in recognition of the command and signaled for Eaton and Benson to bring the mer. 

They had drugged its food the night before and netted it with hardly any difficulty from where it had lain in its smaller tank. It was unmoving in the net as Eaton and Beson approached the water, net dipping between them where the mer had curled up into a protective ball. All Roman could see was a mop of black hair and a flash of blue, but his heart rate spiked at the thought of finally being able to see his pet in the cage well over a week in development. 

The men reached the edge and slowly lowered the net into the water, shaking it a few times to shift the mer off. It seemed to be regaining some agency as it entered back into the water, enough to swim haltingly off of the rope bed it had woken to and down toward the gravel. 

Roman waved his men away and stood back, watching the mer try to get used to its surroundings while clearly not understanding what had happened. It ran thin fingers across the top of the cave Roman had chosen then immediately looked startled, as if it hadn’t really processed anything was there. But even as it was testing out the new waters, he could see an underlying grace in every push of that tail. His eyes were locked onto it, tracking the way it coiled and shone as the mer paced across the length of its new home.

Slowly, Roman walked forward, drinking in the sight of every scale. He had seen how much a single scale could fetch in the right markets, and yet here he was, with hundreds of them on display for him. He stopped right at the edge of the glass, allowing his eyes to shift to the way the fins billowed behind it like the finest cloth with a smile.

He could tell the exact moment the mer noticed him. One second he was watching the tail drift by him. The next, it had disappeared, the only hint of where it had gone the kelp it had sent swirling in its wake. 

So it was fast too, he noted appreciatively. He had known mers must have been prolific predators, but it was one thing to consider it, and another entirely to see it disappear before your eyes. After all, most people had only seen the one mer. It was incredibly difficult to reconcile the image of the only photographed mer, washed up on a beach and tangled in a net, eyes glazed over and milky, with the lively being staring out at him from its cave. His mer was an even more vivid blue than he remembered, the color carrying from its back fins to the eyes glowing slightly in the dark. 

Roman sat himself in his chair and smiled as he swiveled back around to watch the tank. He himself had only seen the picture of a mer, and he’d never met anyone who claimed to have seen one themselves. He was sure some of the men he’d met had considered it, but it was such an outrageous claim that it was immediately dismissed without photographic evidence.

Now he had one serving as decor in his office. He knew next to nothing about his pet, but it didn’t matter. He had the ultimate status symbol. Out of curiosity, he had looked at how much he could fetch were he to ever decide he wanted to sell it, but as they quickly skyrocketed, each offer solidified his decision. He was lucky his men had decided to investigate Gotham’s mysterious new occupant before even he had heard of it. He shuddered to imagine those hicks out there flooding the harbor in their boats, waiting to get their hands on what was rightfully his.

Idly, he debated who the first person he should make aware of his new pet would be. There were the other bosses littered around Gotham, with whom he could use the mer as a way of emphasizing his power, but there was also the simple satisfaction of blowing away one of those mind-numbingly dumb socialites that were constantly scrambling for positioning among themselves. He knew, of course, which option would win out eventually, but it was amusing to picture the likes of Brucie Wayne staring, speechless for once in his damn life, at his pet with nothing other than admiration and respect.

He did need to be careful still about who knew he possessed the mer. He could hardly imagine a thief managing to cart the creature out of the tank, carry it out of the building, and make an escape, but that didn’t make it an impossibility. He supposed he might need to keep it free from the likes of Deathstroke, who may be able to pull off such a theft, but the odds of the man taking any sort of contract on the mer were ridiculously low, and he almost never initiated a job preemptively in the anticipation of payoff. So a few extra security measures, one of his more trusted men on the clock at all times, and he should have his mer secured. Maybe another week before he invited anyone back to his office to display his pet. In the meantime, he would have to work on getting him out of that cave.

* * *

Dick wasn’t sure how he felt about his new tank. It was better than the old one, in that he could swim around and actually flex his tail again, and there was some sparse kelp and a small cave so he didn’t have to be out in the open again. The water was actually a bit warmer than the harbor had been. It was cleaner too.

But the other tank, he hadn’t had to deal with Mask. There had been guards, but they hadn’t cared about him, beyond a few cursory glances. They’d never looked at him like this, like they were trying to pin him against the fake cave. Something churned in his stomach every time he caught sight of the man looking at him. He felt like he was a pup again, slipping into a corner to escape a particularly big predator. 

Except he’d let the predator get him this time, even after Jay had warned him. It had seemed like an off-hand comment, a “you should be more careful,” that made Dick smile because, despite trying to act tough, Jason cared. And so Dick hadn’t listened, instead running his hand through Jay’s hair as they watched the lights of Gotham’s harbor. 

Part of him had known when he’d heard Jason crying out that night. Something instinctive had told him to run, but the moment he’d heard a splash, a terrifying silence, he’d had no choice. It had been too late to be careful.

Dick did his best to watch Mask as he turned back to his desk. He couldn’t see anything he was doing, but at least the man wasn’t staring at him like that anymore. Dick still had an uncomfortable tingling in his spine even as Mask moved to press a button on his desk. He was talking, but Dick couldn’t get much more than the feeling of his voice washing through the water. It was so far from the relaxing tones of Jason, the voice too low, too harsh, and it made Dick’s fins twitch in discomfort. 

_Jason_. Dick hadn’t seen Jason in … it had to be a couple of days, by now. He hadn’t come with dinner and his book the last night in the old tank. Jones had taken his shift. Dick had thought maybe Jason had a night off, but now Dick was here, and he hadn’t seen any sign of Jay. He hoped they had just given Jason another night off, but every minute Jay didn’t walk in the door, Dick couldn’t help the panic building in his chest. 

He’d been trying, he really had, to play dumb. Act like he couldn’t understand them, like he didn’t know Jay, but what if he had slipped up somewhere? Had they taken Jason aside to ask him about Dick? Just gotten rid of him?

There were so many possibilites, and Dick had nothing but time to wonder what the man in front of him had done to Jay. If nothing else, the anger, the sharp pangs of worry at a new theory, helped keep him alert for now. He needed to focus if he wanted to know what had happened, what was _going_ to happen because, despite the fact that he knew Mask had threatened him, he had no idea what the man was going to do. Predatory glances and a tingling spine left Dick in a concerned limbo, unsure of what the man was thinking, but confident it couldn’t be good. 

He resisted the urge to scout the top of the tank again. He knew it was pointless, but he felt helpless, just waiting here hoping Jason would turn up. He _was_ helpless, he realized as he sunk lower in his cave, doing his best to press against the walls for comfort. He was pretty sure he could get himself out of the tank, but it didn’t _matter_. He wouldn’t be able to get ten feet away from the tank by himself. It didn’t matter how much time he had. He was stuck as long as he was by himself.

He rubbed the back of his head against the fake cave’s wall as he caught himself drifting off, fixing his eyes back on Mask again. As if the man felt his glare, he spun his chair around, leaning back against the desk and watching Dick back. There was that smile on his face again, and Dick shivered. 

He much preferred the other tank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this took so long! Believe it or not, I have over forty pages of this fic written; it's just a matter of trying to add some actual pacing and getting to those points. I have a pretty good idea of what should be going on in the next two chapters - it should pick up a bit soon. I hope it doesn't take nearly as long as this, but, unfortunately, no promises.
> 
> Any thoughts are appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Very few people in Gotham willingly hung out at the docks at night, but Tim Drake had always been drawn to the water. The nights were cold, wind whipping relentlessly across the shore, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was he hadn’t been able to catch sight of Gotham’s resident mer in the past week. Yes, it was possible Dick had decided to just move on from Gotham, but something told Tim there was more to it than that. 

The mer had developed a pattern since Tim first noticed him. It had been hard at first, trying to scan the bay every night in the hope he’d catch sight of that tail, but he found Dick sunning on a cluster of rocks just up from the warehouses that peppered the bay. The next day, he’d returned to the same sight. Dick stayed there until about an hour before sundown, intermittently dozing, dipping himself back into the water, or studying small tide pools. Tim figured he went for food when he left.

Then, Tim, hiking to Gotham one night instead of back to his parents’ manor, had caught sight of Dick with a man. They were hidden in an alcove, the man sitting casually on the rock and smoking a cigarette. Dick had pulled himself up, seemingly to sun in the dying light, and as Tim watched he batted the man’s hand, forcing the cigarette into the water. Tim checked that spot again the next day to the same sight. The man wasn’t always there, but Dick was, curled up on the rock. Soon he was hiking that way every time.

But Dick hadn’t shown up at any of his usual spots recently, and Tim was growing anxious. If he had noticed Dick, been able to follow his patterns, maybe someone else had. Tim hadn’t seen anything while watching Dick, but he didn’t follow the mer all the time, and Dick didn’t seem overly cautious about hiding his presence. As more days had ticked by without a sighting, the feeling of dread in Tim’s stomach had grown worse and worse. 

So Tim found himself somewhere he never imagined himself going: to the doorstep of Wayne Manor. 

“I need to speak with Mr. Wayne,” Tim blurted out as Mr. Pennyworth opened the door. The man raised an eyebrow at him and he could feel his heart beating in his ears. It’d been building since he left his house this morning. Now it seemed to be forcing his words past the vise in his chest with each beat. “I have this friend - he’s missing. I don’t know for how long and I can’t involve the police.”

The man’s face seemed to morph with just the slightest bit of pity as he started to say something, but he wasn’t moving to let Tim in. Tim needed to be in.

“I know he’s Batman.”

The eyebrow rose again, but this time the butler stepped back and opened the door. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Drake.”

* * *

“Did you know there was a mer living in Gotham’s harbor?”

Bruce was taken aback by the question, asked so suddenly and matter-of-factly that he’d genuinely had no idea it was coming. 

“I’ve had my suspicions,” he admitted to the teen, which was the truth, if a bit stretched. He had known there was  _ something  _ lurking in the harbor, yes. Tens of shipments don’t just start disappearing without reason, and they don’t randomly show up at warehouses specifically reserved for police-use either. Other things had also been randomly popping out of the bay, sometimes piled up on the shoreline, from a pair of keys to a body that had been missing for months, and that was anything but natural in Gotham. Bruce had even caught a glimpse or two of something glistening beneath the water when the displacements had first started and he had sought to ascertain whether or not the culprit was malicious. Once it had become clear that they weren’t, he had been forced to turn his attentions back to a city always one step away from chaos and away from his gift horse. 

The fact that it was a mer wasn’t too terribly surprising, but it wasn’t expected, either. He had known they existed after very few talks with Aquaman, but they generally stayed further out toward sea and south, toward sunlight, warmth, and basking rocks. For one to wander up into Gotham was unheard of, but also not impossible given the summer air and a particularly warm set of currents. If that were the case, there could be a whole pod hooked up into the nooks and crannies of the bay without his knowing. 

Then a word that Timothy had said finally registered in his brain. “Was?”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Wayne,” the teen said authoritatively, and Bruce had to give him credit. He hid his nervousness well. It was still obvious, of course, in the way his fingers worked against his side, the abnormally harsh clenching of his jaw, but he was clearly fighting to not have his point undermined. “I haven’t seen him in weeks now, and I’m worried. He’s never just disappeared like that before.”

Questions flooded Bruce’s mind, even more so than when Alfred had knocked on his study door and informed him that Batman had a visitor, and maybe they would sit down and go over them all later, but he needed to focus on what this teenager thought so important he broke what he claimed were years of knowing the Batman’s identity without saying anything. 

He settled on responding with his initial thought. “It’s entirely plausible he migrated for the winter.”

“Don’t you think I thought of that?” Timothy demanded, before seeming to remember just who he was talking to. “Dick never would have left without saying goodbye. I’m sure of it.”

“You seem to have a very close relationship with this mer.”

Timothy paused. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is Dick is missing, and he’s ticked off a bunch of people. Any number of them could have found him and done something.”

Bruce frowned. That was true. Most gangs had been scrambling in recent months as important items found their ways elsewhere, and someone like Two-Face or Penguin wouldn’t hesitate to take revenge if they knew who was responsible for it. Bruce didn’t want to think about what Harvey might do to a creature already conveniently divided in half. 

“It’s possible he fled for his own safety.” Timothy opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce held up a hand to stop him. “If he were to get in over his head, as you suggest, his previous actions seem to indicate he’s more competent than simply allowing himself to be captured. He could very well have left if he believed things were becoming dangerous.”

“But he would have said goodbye first!” Timothy protested, voice raising again. 

Bruce paused for a second to consider Timothy as the teen struggled to reign his temper back in. Something was off about this whole situation, but what exactly that was, Bruce couldn’t put his finger on just yet. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

There was silence in wake of the comment, and Bruce watched Timothy as it festered and built for almost a minute before admitting, “He didn’t exactly meet with me.”

“Oh?”

“He’s got a regular meet-up, down on that small rock outcropping just past the food stalls. It’s with a man, I don’t know his name, but they  _ always  _ meet, every Tuesday at 8PM. He wouldn't have just skipped one. Not Dick.” Timothy drew in a breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. Bruce stared at him, knowing he would continue in his own time. “I have pictures. I didn’t bring them with me, but I have them, if you want to see the man. I haven’t been able to find him, but maybe you could.”

Bruce stared at the teen. There was a conviction to him as he met Bruce’s eyes. 

“You don’t know this mer.” He allowed some of his trademark growl into his words, standing and forcing the teen to look up at him. “You don’t know his habits, his relationships, or his thought process. I fail to understand how you even know his name. You need to accept that whatever has brought him to Gotham has moved on, and you need to do the same.” 

Timothy’s eyes widened a bit in surprise at the statement. Bruce wondered what response he had expected. 

“I see.” The words were clipped, eyes going from wide to disappointed, hurt, within a second. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne.” 

Then the teen was turning sharply on his heel and striding out of the manor. Bruce listened to his footsteps against the tile and heard him bid goodbye to Alfred on his way out.  The butler entered the study with a slight knock on the door just as Bruce was sitting back down. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him with displeasure painted across his face. 

“If I may, what was that all about, Master Bruce?” 

The man was giving Bruce a chance to explain himself. Justify what he had said to drive the youngest Drake away. 

“He’d go after him, Alfred,” Bruce explained, the look in Timothy’s eyes all too familiar. “If I gave the slightest hint of believing his story, he’d keep searching.”

“And do you?”

Bruce pursed his lips, looking at the exit Timothy had taken. “I don’t know.” It seemed improbable.  _ A teen figuring out your identity seems improbable _ , he reminded himself. 

Alfred found a USB drive on the doorstep the next morning, handing it to Bruce alongside the paper. It seemed to stare at him while he ate. He couldn’t focus on the newest setbacks in some development project with this looming question sitting less than a foot away.

There was nothing to go on, not really. He had the word of a teenager, a decreasing number of disappearing shipments, and a series of pictures. It wasn’t nearly enough to merit an investigation. He shook his head, trying to focus back on his reading.

In the end, he started with the photos, chalking it up to a slow week of patrol. There were a series, though it was hard to tell how far apart any of them were taken, and how many days were actually pictured. The mer looked the same in most of them, while the man’s jacket made it difficult to see if his shirt had changed. 

There must be three different days, he decided. Not enough to back the kid’s claim that it was a regular meetup. Enough to rule out a coincidental meeting. 

Further support came from the positions, the mer -  _ Dick, _ his mind supplied - often cradling his head on the man’s chest with a clear smile on his face. His body looked relaxed. There was one photo in which he appeared asleep. He trusted the man. And, if the mer had indeed been in the bay for so long without detection, this wasn’t a position he would have taken with anyone. 

Bruce studied the man, something niggling in the back of his mind. He was tense, jaw clenched in more photos than not, body taut beneath the mer. There were some where his head was thrown back in a laugh, or a small smile appeared, but then his knuckles would be white from gripping the rock and the suspicion was back. Bruce would swear he could almost make out the outline of a firearm beneath the right arm of his jacket.  This man, Bruce was sure, had something to do with the mer’s disappearance. He pulled together as many pictures with a clear view of his face as he could and set about trying to develop a composite. Now Batman just needed to figure out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love any and all comments thrown my way, and thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos! You all make my day.
> 
> (Fair warning, darker tags are approaching. Probably in the next two or three chapters.)


	6. Chapter 6

Jason woke with a groan, throwing his arm over his eyes as if he could ignore the sun. He knew for a fact he had closed the ratty curtain the night before, which meant Roy had decided to be an absolute asshole - nothing new there - and throw them open before he left. The light did nothing but aggravate the pounding in his temples.

He had one hell of a headache, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had done to get it. He frowned at the stubble that had sprung up across his face. He never went this long without shaving, hated the itchy feeling it gave him.

He sat up slowly and swept his eyes across the room, startling because, while he had come back to his apartment between shifts, he couldn’t remember the last time he had really _been_ in his apartment. It was always get home, shower, eat, sleep, a mechanical process refined so he could ponder what to do about Dick instead of what he was actually doing at any given moment. And when he’d worried about it enough for the day, he let his subconscious take over and try for a win. In doing so, he’d somehow managed to avoid the laundry he had piled up in the corner, along with the series of different boxes and bowls he had strewn about the counter and a line of empty beers spanning his coffee table. He supposed it could be dirtier, but then again he didn’t really have too much to dirty it _with_. 

He was running his hands down his face to relax his jaw when he realized why he hadn’t shaved in the past two days. Because he always shaved right before he saw Dick. 

As the last of his morning brain fog cleared, so did the previous two days. Jones had called to tell him he’d earned the weekend off, and to enjoy his break. He didn’t think there was anything malicious to it - the man had seemed genuinely concerned with Jason’s well-being - but it was still unsettling. He was unable to give Dick the comfort the mer had latched onto more with every visit. He couldn’t look over and reassure himself that Dick was fine, for the moment.

So Jason had spent two days drinking and mindlessly flipping through channels on his tv. He’d already tried to research mer. (It just resulted in nightmares of Dick in the place of that mer in all the stupid pictures.) He had talked to Roy a bit once, but the man was tired and cranky coming off the end of a long shift, and they’d ended up in more of a fight than anything else. Everything else just seemed pointless. 

He sighed into his hands as he went to shave. No wonder he had a fucking headache. But at least he’d be going back tonight. Despite how foolish he knew the notion was, he couldn’t help but feel that everything would be okay as soon as he saw Dick. 

He shaved and showered, though getting all the accumulated junk off did almost nothing for his mood. He couldn’t see water without thinking of Dick. Roy had called it an unhealthy obsession yesterday, when they’d been lunging for each other’s throats. Jason had laughed at that. Of all the people to call out an “unhealthy obsession,” Roy Harper was probably the most absurd.

After he was dressed for the day, which felt like a small achievement in and of itself, he’d picked up his phone to check the charge. He had expected it not to turn on. Instead, it alerted him of a message Jones had sent that morning.

“That _bastard,_ ” Jason ground out between clenched teeth. He clenched his fist around the phone. Of course they had moved Dick when he was off. When the mer was probably scared and confused about what was happening, _again._ All because of Jason. “Dammit.”

He was halfway to the door before he realized what he was doing. He stopped for a second, trying to persuade himself he was overreacting. Dick had already been moved for who-knew-how-long. Two hours wasn’t going to change anything. Him busting in two hours early, though, would probably give something away. Was he really going to throw out any chance he had of helping Dick for the chance to assure himself the mer was currently safe? 

It wasn’t even a question. But he compromised with himself: he’d wait an hour to head in, then play up the excited kid who couldn’t wait to get a better look at the mer to pass off any suspicion. It was as good a plan as any right now.

He tried to busy himself with cleaning the apartment, but his eyes kept sliding back to the crappy digital clock plugged in by the sink. The minutes seemed to drag by. He forced himself to focus on the physical sensations of what he was doing, to think about the clank of the bottles as he washed them out, the resistance as he scrubbed a plate. 

The idea that he hadn’t noticed making this mess, too preoccupied, bothered him. He liked Dick, saw him every chance he got, and could definitely count him as one of two members of the Jason Todd fan club. His company was incredibly relaxing, he was fascinating, and the smug smile he got on his face when he managed to pin Jason on the rocks and force him to relax was absolutely adorable. Roy would, and did, call him smitten with the mer. But it was different before. Then, he came home and sat down to a meal with Roy or went out to a bar with some of Mask’s men to try to fit in. He saw Dick every day, yes, but he wasn’t the focus of a single, all-consuming thought the way he seemed to be now.

He scrubbed harder at a bit of gristle.

He hadn’t noticed it when he was stuck up in it, a cycle of caring for Dickie and thinking about him and worry. And he needed to be thinking about how he could get Dick out; if he didn’t worry about the mer, it would be far worse. Any sane person who didn’t focus on how to get Dick out of his situation was a piece of human garbage, as far as Jason was concerned. So he was fully justified in his focus on the mer.

It didn’t matter, though, that he could reason why it had come to be. This sudden fixation worried him. He didn’t like being so deeply attached to someone. Caring for Dick’s well-being while he was present and planning a way to get him out shouldn’t manage to occupy the entirety of his day. 

And yet Dick had slipped under all of his defenses. He hadn’t noticed it when they had been able to meet whenever they wanted, when he had known the mer was _safe_ , but now that the mer was in jeopardy? Jason’s attachment got yanked up and shoved in his face like the terrible mistake it had been. The heartstrings that the sight of the unhappy mer had tugged had been left alone for years and he hadn’t even noticed when they started to be plucked again. But when they were played they could snap, and, thinking back to all the time he’d lost simply staring at Dick through the warehouse tank’s glass, Jason was dangerously close. He had affixed himself so much to Dick that he didn’t know what he would do if Mask did something terrible to the mer. 

The problem was that, now that it had taken hold, Jason didn’t know if there was anything he could do about it. He didn’t know if he _wanted_ to do anything about it. Roy was right; he was smitten. The idea of losing Dick’s affection seemed to hurt. 

He put the last dish to the side of the sink to dry and went to grab his jacket. There was just under an hour left until his shift started and, as much as he dragged himself over the coals about how quickly he’d somehow managed to fall, he’d still fallen. The idea of being away from Dick for more than he needed to be right now unsettled him. If he was there, he could assure himself the mer was okay. 

On the drive over, Jason prepared himself for the inevitable demand about why he was early. He practiced his excuse and responses to every question he could see someone asking. He practiced raising his voice a little in excitement even as his words horrified him. 

At the last minute, he had remembered to steel himself for Dickie looking run ragged. It was clear to see the toll stress and a small space was taking on him before. Now, shifted again to a new place, without his only friend at the moment, Jason could only guess at how wan Dick would be. Was he eating? Sleeping? He did his best to prepare himself for Dick without his usual luster or energy as he stepped into the elevator that would take him to Mask’s office.

The ride was relatively short, elevator slowing gently and doors pinging open. There was a bit of a walk to the main doors of the office, but the halls were empty at the moment, so he knocked and entered Mask’s office, knowing the man would have been alerted the second Jason used his key in the elevator. 

He took a few steps forward before what he was seeing sank in. When it did, he froze in his tracks. The last thing Jason expected to walk into was this.

Jones was at the top of the tank, a pile of fish next to him and a weighted net stretched out between his hands. His stance was undeniably rigid as he stared into the tank. Jason followed his eyes, heart stopping for a beat or two when he saw the plume of crimson flowing weakly from a fake cave.

He wasn’t thinking as he shoved off his jacket and scurried up the ladder. His foot barely had time to hit the top rung before he was diving into the tank. Jones yelled out for him to stop at some point, but it didn’t matter. 

Blood. _Dick was bleeding_. He’d never seen the mer bleed. He’d never seen Jones panicked like that.

He’d never moved faster. 

The swim for the cave was a blur of desperate kicks and panic, and then suddenly Dick was in his arms. The mer didn’t resist as Jason dragged him to the surface. His lungs were burned from the strain when he broke into the cool office air, and he gasped, pushing Dick toward Jones as he struggled to stay afloat. The tank was larger than he had expected, and Dick was heavy, even in the water. _Dead weight_ , his mind suggested as he kicked slowly toward the edge. His chest was too tight, his legs exhausted.

Jones hauled Dick out of the water, placing the mer gently down on the platform next to the cage. Jason surged out after him. Jason barely had time to sit himself up, chest heaving as the adrenaline left, before the mer was against his side.

Dick clung to his arms, sharp nails fisted through his shirt. The mer was sobbing into him, tucking his head deeper into the crook of Jason’s neck as Jones pried one hand off and began to clean the wounds there. He flinched as Jones applied antiseptic and Jason found a hand coming up to cradle Dick’s head of its own accord. 

“It’ll be okay,” he promised, stroking fingers through Dick’s hair. He knew Jones was watching them, watching _him_ , when his eyes weren’t focused on his wrapping, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. Let Jones think he was some bleeding-heart rookie. He didn’t have the energy to pretend walking into that sight hadn’t rattled him. 

Jason didn’t try to hide the fear creeping through him, the confusion as the mer let out a shuddering breath. Dick’s gills fluttered against Jason’s chest. What could have happened to cause this? He wanted to ask but he didn’t want to disturb Dick or make him relive whatever he was still coming down from. It was obvious the wounds were self-inflicted, long and angry streaks of broken skin while Dick had bits of blood underneath his nails. Small dots of it would stain the shoulder of Jason’s shirt until he burned it the first chance he got.

They sat in relative silence as Dick’s first arm was bound, and Dick let Jones remove his second hand without a fight. He was relatively calm now, save a couple hiccuping breaths every now and again, but he kept his face hidden in Jason’s shoulder. Jason understood. He kept his hand right where it was on Dick’s head, too.

Jason was so focused on Dick’s breathing, the image of the mer writhing and bleeding stuck in his head, that he didn’t notice the syringe until there was a flash of silver. Jones had plunged it into Dick’s shoulder. 

He knew the exact moment Dick felt it. The mer started moving, trying to get away before it could kick in. He pushed and pulled and twisted.

Jason swallowed heavily, pressing his chin against the top of Dick’s head. He kept his arms where they were and tightened his grip to keep Dick in place. He knew it was what Jones expected from him, that the man would make a note of it if he let Dick out of his hold. He locked eyes with the man over Dick’s head and saw the approval there as he held Dick through another sharp twist. 

The mer’s struggles grew weaker. There was a faint whine, smothered in Jason’s chest, before he went still. 

Jason felt sick with himself as he opened his arms and let Jones grab the mer. He had to, he reminded himself. Had to keep everyone thinking he was on Mask’s side. Had to keep Dick pinned so that he could help get him free. 

That didn’t change the fact that he’d just held the mer down against his will and was handing him back over to Mask, unable to defend himself. 

“I’ll take it from here,” Jones said, his arm snaking around Dick’s torso and pulling him away. He lifted Dick with a grunt, cradling the mer in a bridal carry like Jason hadn’t struggled to move him through water. He gave Jason a pointed once-over. “Go get yourself cleaned up.”

It was a clear dismissal. One he knew he should take. He was too amped up, though. Too scared of what could happen when Dick was out of his sight. He could feel slight tremors in his hands and squeezed them to try to hide the movements.

He was about to chase after Jones as he walked away before he reminded himself he was probably taking the mer to get better medical care than the field dressings. That questioning him like that would be insubordination and no matter how much leeway the man gave him he’d be stomped on if he’d opened his mouth and leave Dick without any options. 

Suddenly, how close he’d come to demanding to be allowed to stay with the mer was terrifying. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked back toward the elevator. He exhaled a shaky breath. His emotions had been an issue when he’d been there to take direct care of the mer. Now? 

Now they were a downright danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading; any thoughts are appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up - we're getting into the first bits of non-con here with some non-con touching. Also, terrible comic book science to justify the plot (but I think that's kind of to be expected with this premise).
> 
> This chapter isn't exactly thoroughly edited, so apologies for any errors!

“This...this is  _ fascinating _ ,” Dr. Hauke remarked, walking hesitantly around where the mer was splayed out on an examination table. Some of its fins hung loosely off the end of the table and the man picked one up with gentle hands, marveling at the translucence, the sheer thinness of it. “Where did you even find such a thing?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern,” Roman said, grinding his teeth a bit. “And, please, refrain from any contact beyond the necessary.”

“Oh, I understand, Mr. Sionis,” the doctor replied instantly. He seemed to come back to himself, and who was in the room with him, gently taking the mer’s wrist and peeling back the field dressing Jones had applied. His tone was strained but clinical when he spoke again. “These are some deep cuts here, clearly self-inflicted. They definitely need stitches, though how many I won’t be able to tell until I’ve cleaned the wound some more. There may be some light scarring, but it looks like they were stopped before anything got too deep.

“I know you wanted to minimize touch as much as possible, but I think it would be wise to have someone perform a full examination. I’m not sure how you will be able to cater to its needs if you haven’t been able to establish what exactly that may entail.”

Roman didn’t particularly want to allow anyone to poke and prod at his pet, even if they were doing so in a medical capacity, but he couldn’t fault the doctor’s argument. It would also be useful if there were any further incidents for the information to already be on file. So he grudgingly assented, telling Benson, who had been with him when he received a call to come to medical, to stay with the doctor throughout the course of the examination and ensure that nothing done was unnecessary. When it was finished, they would call him back for any results of actual importance, and then the mer would be relocated back to its tank. 

Roman tugged his suit cuffs into place as he exited the room. Once outside, he turned to Jones, who had exited beside him. The man was still partially wet, a vee of water plastering his shirt to his body where he had carried the mer. 

He hadn’t expected to receive a terse call from his second, informing him of an incident with his newest acquisition, to round off his day. The information provided over the phone had been minimal, at best. Now, he demanded an account of what had happened to land his pet in such a situation.

Apparently, Jones had received a call from Eaton when the latter man was supposed to be seeing to it that the mer was fed. The mer was already bleeding when Jones arrived and he hadn’t been able to talk to Eaton about what had happened in his haste to get the mer to proper medical care. Todd had also arrived at some point, Jones informed him, and was the one who actually dove into the water and retrieved the mer.

It was a disappointing lack of information, but one that could easily be resolved by checking the cameras he’d had installed already. He’d have to install a way to ensure his mer could be coaxed out of its cave, too - both for its safety and so that he could enjoy its company when he wished - and he had an idea on how exactly he would fix that issue. 

He had just finished giving Jones a few orders and instructions on how they would proceed when Dr. Hauke beckoned for them to come back into the examination room. Roman dismissed Jones, fairly certain that Benson would also be able to handle the mer back into its tank, and strode in. 

“Well?” he asked as he shut the door behind him. 

“Its arms should heal nicely - I assume it will be easier to provide instructions to one of its caregivers instead of requesting it be brought here for a follow-up?” A nod. The man hummed. “There doesn’t appear to be any abnormalities to worry about, no immediate threats to its health, but - ” here he paused “ - I did find something unexpected regarding its anatomy.

“Mr. Sionis,” the man said slowly, “are you aware of how this creature reproduces?”

Roman cocked an eyebrow in clear invitation. 

“It appears that your mer, while visually a male, is also in possession of a uterus. As far as I can tell, it is fully functional.”

“You mean to tell me-”

“That this creature may be able to gestate young?” Roman decided to forgive the interruption as fascination spread across the doctor’s face. “Yes. Given the obvious similarities to us, in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was able to carry sperm from a human donor. Of course, such offspring would in and of itself be unable to reproduce, but-”

Roman raised a hand to cut the doctor off, and the insipid little man listened for once. “I can’t help but notice it doesn’t exactly have a cunt,” he pointed out, voice laden with skepticism despite the intrigue inherent in what the man was saying. 

“I think I can help out there, too,” the doctor said. He waved Benson forward and had him roll the mer over. “It’s only a theory, mind you,” the man continued, pushing around on the tightly sculpted ass of the tail, “but I believe there to be - aha!”

The man’s fingertips dipped down for a moment, disappearing between scales to come back wet. He grinned in triumph as he held them up to the light. “There’s a slit.”

Roman walked forward, curiosity now openly piqued as he approached the table and prodded against those scales with his thumb. He had to look around for a second before he felt a bit of give and pushed. 

What greeted him was tight and warm, a soft, fleshy passage pulsating with every beat of the mer’s heart. A smile spread across his face as he worked his thumb a bit further in, crooking it against plush walls. He felt his pants begin to tent slightly at the feeling, looking at his mer’s face just to see those eyebrows draw together in discomfort, even through the heavy sedation. 

He quickly removed his thumb, holding it up to the light appraisingly as he willed his dick down. His plans for the mer had just shifted rapidly, but his whole crew didn’t need to know how much this notion affected him. Certainly not a member whose name he had only known for a couple of weeks, even if he had proven himself loyal. 

“There is indeed.”

“I’d have to do further studies to estimate things such as litter size, germination time, fertility window, even delivery method, but I think at the very least I can say it’s plausible that someone could impregnate it. I’m not entirely sure what symptoms of a pregnancy may be, either, but I think it’s safe to say any change in behavior should be heavily monitored regardless.”

Roman nodded sharply as he mulled the information over in his head. He was turning to leave when the man spoke again. 

“Wait!” Roman pivoted on his heel with practiced precision and cocked his eyebrow again. “If you were to successfully impregnate it, might I ask that you return here for any further checks? I don’t believe a gynecologist or any other specialist would be more qualified to aid here than I am, especially considering I’ve already developed some familiarity with it.”

There was excitement in the man’s eyes, and any doubts Roman had about his motive for checking over some very specific areas was immediately erased. There was also a note of hope on his face as he eyed the mer, eyes keeping on the slit a bit too long for Roman to be fully comfortable with. 

“ _ If _ ,” Roman said, layering his voice in no small amount of ice, “I choose to impregnate my mer, I will make a decision about medical care then. Until that time, I would appreciate it if you leave the possibility alone.

The man nodded quickly, three, four times, as if suddenly realizing he may have stepped on some toes. 

Good. 

He arrived back in his office to find Jones waiting for him. The man assured him that the modifications he had requested had been made, and Roman told him to stay to review the security footage of the tank before he left. It didn’t take much persuasion on his part; curiosity made itself clear as Jones leaned in to see the footage better. 

They watched in silence as Eaton strolled in, having left briefly to grab the fish waiting for the mer’s dinner. They had been instructed to work to get the mer to leave its cave in order to get its food, forcing it to become accustomed to the larger space. Accordingly, Eaton stood at the platform to the side of the tank and waved one of the fish around by the tail. When the motion didn’t get the mer, coiled in its cave, to move into the open water, he cursed, throwing the fish down.

“Fucking mer.”

He grabbed a different fish and tried the same thing. Same result. The man kept cursing at the mer, voice low as he muttered to himself in frustration. He climbed down the ladder next to the tank and stood in front of it. He stared at the cave. After a moment, he raised his hand and rapped against the glass.

“Come on, you fucker,” he growled at the tank. He waited a second before reaching out and striking the glass again. “I’ve got shit to do.”

As they watched, small tendrils of red began leaking out of the cave. Faint movement within could be seen on the camera, the mer’s tail fins jerking around violently and catching the light. 

“What the fuck?” Eaton shifted, presumably trying to get a better angle on what the mer was doing in the cave, and reached to call for Jones. 

“It was in pain,” Jones murmured. “It’s sensitive to the noise from the glass.”

Roman nodded, keeping his focus on the feed as the stream of blood continued. They watched through the end of the incident - when Todd had managed to direct the mer to the edge of the tank - but there was nothing else particularly informative in the feed. 

Roman turned the feed off before turning to Jones. “It’s time to alter the mer’s detail. I don’t believe we need to continue monitoring throughout the day, especially when I’m working. Meals and a night shift should suffice.” Jones nodded. “Who do you suggest removing?”

Roman hadn’t had much in the way of opportunity to evaluate the different caregivers and, aside from this incident, had no knowledge of anything negative happening. Perhaps Eaton was an obvious choice for removal, but after the talk he was planning with the man, he doubted his dislike of the mer would affect his behavior further. 

Jones pondered the question for a minute before responding, “Todd.”

“Todd?” Roman couldn’t help the surprise that bled into his voice. He had no issue with the decision, and Todd was typically an asset to any assignment he was given - though Roman hadn’t truly been able to test that since he’d noticed it - so moving him off the detail would be beneficial to the rest of his operations. Still, from everything he had seen, Todd seemed the best with the mer.

“You saw the security video; he barely made it to the edge of the tank with the mer. He’s the only member of the detail who can’t carry it if something similar to today happens.”

Roman nodded. They heard movement above them and turned to see Benson carrying the mer to the edge of the tank. He had the mer in a fireman’s carry, stooped forward a bit beneath its weight. When he got close enough, he shifted the mer around and crouched down on the metal. Mer positioned in his arms, he leaned forward until it was submerged, then released it gently. 

It was still unconscious and floated slowly down to the bottom of the tank. It nestled among a couple of stalks of kelp. It was fascinating to see the mer outside of the cave, completely slack. 

As soon as the mer hit the bottom, Benson straightened up, gave a nod, and was waved off by Jones. 

“The kid’s great,” Jones said, restarting their conversation with an underlying chuckle, “but he’d fall in if he had to do that.”

Roman had to agree. Todd was definitely in the process of building up his muscle to go along with his marksmanship, but it was nowhere near the adults yet. 

Things like that, reminders of how young Todd was, made him sometimes doubt the level of responsibility he felt the young man could shoulder. But he would continue to test it, slowly, incrementally, now that the man was off mer detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are taking so long to get out; I keep getting distracted by other fic ideas. But I've got the next couple stages of the plot mapped out here, so hopefully I'll be posting more often, and the pace of the fic should be picking up too.
> 
> Any thoughts are appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish this chapter was longer but I wanted to get it out today. New year's resolution? At least chapter a month.   
> (a pathetic goal, but a goal nonetheless lol)
> 
> Fair warning: this chapter has not been proofread

Dick woke with bleary eyes. It was a feeling he used to associate with a good night’s sleep, but in the past few weeks, he’d only known it in one capacity. He’d been sedated. 

He blinked, squeezed his lids closed and looked around. Had he been moved again? His hands didn’t meet the rock of the cave but that didn’t really mean anything. 

His fingers grabbed onto the familiar feeling of kelp as the world came more in focus. He was in the section of the tank he’d been avoiding, the stalks too spread out to provide cover from Mask’s gaze and making him feel vulnerable the rare times he tried to explore. 

He’d forgotten how nice the texture was. The slick blade slid between his thumb and forefinger with a gentle pressure. It was a comforting thing to focus on as his limbs slowly regained their feeling, until he could twitch his tail instead of just watching the fins drifting in the water. It reminded him of dashing through kelp forests with his parents as they ventured from place to place. Sometimes they would grab a stray stem and fashion the blades into bands. Some of his earliest memories were curling up next to his mother in a nest of woven kelp and sticks while his father kept a calm guard. 

There was some kelp down by the rocks where he and Jason met and he felt a smile tugging his lips as he remembered watching the man slip on it and try to brush it off as nothing. 

Still, he disliked being out in this area. Eyes clearer, he looked out the glass warily. The lights were on. He expected to see Mask staring at him. 

There was no one there. 

He was alone. 

He glanced over at the cave, a too-familiar desire to hide himself within it heavy in his chest. But - he was alone. He couldn’t remember the last time there hadn’t been at least one pair of eyes on him, somebody there watching him. 

The last of the sedative seemed to wear off with that realization, replaced with cautious excitement. It was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly, he was antsy, too full of energy. His tail twitched and coiled around itself in an attempt to relieve some of it, but it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for a while now, but fear had been keeping him back. He needed to  _ move _ . 

He darted to the opposite end of the tank, then back. Then back again. He felt a bit of tension ease from his shoulders at the familiar feeling of water gliding past his face, at working his tail the way he used to, the brush of kelp against his limbs. It was still wrong, the dashes too short and the water too stagnant and uniform, but … it was something. 

He slowed a bit after his first few dashes, tired of the straight lines. Instead, he circled the tank. It was slower, but it made the water swirl around and fall back in waves. Some, he noticed with a vindictive grin, was pushed up and over the sides. It didn’t reach anything important, Mask’s desk out of reach, but it was enough to make the floor around him slippery. He couldn’t tell, but he thought some may have managed to make it to the chair. 

He did a few more laps before falling into a leisurely pace, moving just to move. He hadn’t realized just how stiff and sore he had been getting until it slowly faded away. 

The elation was wearing off too. He was trying to focus back on the sensations of finally getting to move instead of the itching in his arms, the remnants of a headache pressing gently at his temples, the way he was getting tired far faster than he should. 

A shudder ran through him as his fins pressed against the glass, his turn just a little too wide. He moved to the back of the tank but kept moving. He wove himself through the kelp. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to go back to the way things were before. 

He heard the doorknob turn and dread immediately settled back in. He dashed back to the cave and hoped he had evaded Mask’s eyes as the man entered the room. 

Mask merely smiled at him -- meeting his eyes with unnerving precision -- and strode up to the glass. 

“Now,” he started. Dick froze as his voice cut through the water, not clear but clear enough for him to make out the individual words. Mask’s smile seemed to widen a bit. “Is that any way for a pet to greet its master?”

The water around Dick seemed to freeze even as indignation lit in his stomach. He glared at Mask. Mask shook his head, the smirk still spread across his lips. He raised his hand, then deliberately crooked a finger. Dick barely had a second to question what was happening before a sharp crack echoed through the water. 

He squirmed against the walls of the cave as the noise folded over itself and echoed in the tank. 

Dick let out a low whine, an all-encompassing headache coming on with the dying noise. He heard a snort, followed by words he couldn’t make out even as they pressed against him in the water. 

There was another set of taps that ripped through his head. A pause. Another demand, but the words slipped through his fingers again.

He curled in on himself, hands abandoning his ears to grab at rocks, sea grass, anything that could serve as a handhold. He couldn’t make himself any smaller, not without the walls of his nest to curl around him. 

Another tap echoed over him, sending all rational thought away. His fingers raked desperately against the bandages on his forearm.

Why was everything so  _ loud _ ? 

He darted out of the cave, trying to escape the waves of noise. He nestled down in the kelp and waited for the next rap.

It took a moment for the ringing in his ears to stop, but when it did, he looked up in confusion. Mask was still smirking at the glass. Dick hated that face. Mask’s hand was lowered, though.

He waited for something else to happen but when Mask didn’t move, he cautiously uncoiled from his corner. His equilibrium was off so his motions toward the cave were slow and shaky. He felt like Mask was soaking in each little tremor. 

There was motion to his left as he moved to reenter the cave and froze. Mask’s hand was up again. He shook his head when Dick glanced anxiously at the one place he had been able to feel relatively comfortable. 

Dick swallowed. He felt exposed swimming through the open water. He passed over the cave anyway. He moved to curl into the back corner, as far from Mask’s prying eyes as he could get, but Mask rested his knuckle against the glass in clear threat. Dick’s stomach sank. 

He pushed himself out of the corner, drifting aimlessly through the water.

“Good pet,” Mask praised. Dick glared at him; the man shook his head with that same damned smile in place. He turned his back to Dick and strode over to his desk. He ignored the water Dick had splashed onto the floor completely. 

Dick tried to sneak back into the cave as Mask focused on his work. He was met with a sharp shock and bolted away from it. He stared at Mask in despair. It was bad enough being confined to the tank, but now he was being forced out into the open. He was being put on show. No one was even watching, and he couldn’t choose to go where he wanted, be where he wanted to be. 

Mask had told him his life belonged to him when he’d been captured. Dick had thought that meant being shuffled around from tank to tank, constantly confined and fed what the man decided, watched by who the man decided.

Now, he stared at the back of the man who wasn’t looking at him. Who was keeping him out of his new space just to demonstrate the power he held over him. 

He was beginning to realize just how wrong he had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for the comments and kudos; I'm terrible at responding but you all make my day! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, and what you want to/think you will see next.
> 
> Also, I know I say this almost every time, but I've been plotting it out some more so I'm hoping updates will start going faster sometime soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody's been asking after him, but Roy's shown up...so there's that.

Roy closed the door and tossed his key into the small bowl beside it. They thudded against the cheap plastic as he snapped the lock into place, having to lean in and pull the door up as he did so. The bolt slid in with a dull click.

Leaning back against the wood, he ran his free hand down his face, pinched his nose and squeezed his eyes shut against the pressure building behind them. His arm felt heavy where he held it, though it was just for a second as he evened out his breath. The pain started to dissipate a bit. For whatever reason, Gotham had decided to be quiet tonight, and he was glad. Their walls were too thin to be able to keep out the noise of the city, whether it was sirens, explosions, or just a few drunks deciding to shout in the street. Now, the apartment brought a relaxing silence and stillness. 

Shaking his head to clear it, he beelined to the kitchen - takeout in hand - and sighed when he opened the cupboard. Empty. All their dishes were piled up in the sink, water greying with the residue of the food they’d held a night or two before. He shook his head as he moved to grab a sponge and started trying to get the hot water running.

“Hey, Roy.”

Roy turned with a start. Jason snorted at him from his place on the couch. It was completely devoid of humor as he just stared at the wall opposite him. His eyes didn’t even flick to Roy while the older man surveyed him. Roy didn’t bother to be subtle about it either. He hadn’t gotten a good look at him in...he wasn’t sure how long now. Their schedules hardly overlapped recently, and when one came back the other was sleeping off their previous shift. It seemed like forever since the last time he and Jay had had a civil conversation. Now, the man’s eyes were way too dark, sunk into skin that had begun to pale at some point, leaving his freckles standing out far more than normal. His face seemed thinner, too, but maybe it was just the way his mouth had curled like he was sucking on a lemon.

“You look like shit.”

That brought another snort, but no further answer. Roy tested the water with one hand and started running the first dish under it. He watched Jason out of the corner of his eye. “Thought you were on Dick detail?” 

Jason tossed his phone at Roy’s back. Roy made a brief, less than dignified noise of protest as he turned only to be caught in the chest by the device. He caught it with his dry hand before it could hit the floor. Jason’s mood didn’t seem to lighten in the slightest. 

Roy only had to look down at the message to know why. “I’m sorry, dude.”

Jason sighed and leaned against the back of the couch with a huff. “Doesn’t do any good,” he muttered. He stared out the window. 

Roy scrubbed a hand down his face and did his best to bite his tongue. The few times their paths  _ had  _ crossed since Dick’s capture, Jason had been downright pissy, ready to fight about anything. He seemed sullen now, but Roy had seen firsthand how that could turn on a dime and he really wasn’t in the mood for a fight. He  _ had  _ been in the mood for some crappy Chinese food, but that was quickly disappearing. 

Roy stood awkwardly at the threshold of their small kitchen, Jason’s phone in his hand, a dripping bowl in the other. Jason was just brooding on the couch. The pain behind his eyes made Roy uncomfortable. He had ribbed Jason about his attachment to Dick. He’d thought it was more of a crush mixed with a healthy dose of curiosity. But  _ this _ was on another level. Jason was in deep, and Roy didn’t have the first idea how to help him. It wasn’t like a breakup, where he could tell him to just forget the bastard and go get laid. 

The silence between them seemed to stretch out. Roy’s tongue traced along the back of his teeth until he couldn’t take it anymore - whether it was the awkwardness, the odd pain on Jason’s face, or the fact that his food was getting cold on the counter and the bowl in his hand annoying.

He was still taken aback by the words that found their way out of his mouth.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” came falling out before he could stop it. Jason’s head snapped to stare at him, and just like that there was rage instead of self-flagellating regret. Roy wished he hadn’t opened his trap, but he was tired, goddammit, and hungry.

“It’s better?” Jason snarled. “It’s better that he be scared and alone with Sionis all the time? That I’m not there if something happens to him, to  _ keep  _ something from happening to him?” His voice was rising. He was on the verge of shouting and probably only holding back because of the delicate nature of the subject. The volume still fought against a renewed pounding in Roy’s head. 

“Last time I left him alone I found him  _ bleeding _ , Roy,” he hissed. His fists were clenched by his sides, nails obviously digging into his palms where he had darted up to stand at some point. He took a few steps toward the kitchen until he was face-to-face with Roy. (And when had he gotten so tall?)

Roy looked down the slight distance to meet his eyes, now aglow with rage. “Yeah, and now you’re having nightmares about having to hold him down.” 

The man reeled back a bit at that, and surprise flit across his face for a second before his brow furrowed angrily again. 

“I haven’t —” Jason protested, but Roy wasn’t having it. He’d let Jason wallow and yell for long enough. 

“Don’t give me any of that bullshit! I’ve heard them. And before that it was nightmares about him being taken away without you knowing, and before that it was guilt about how he got caught in the first place. It’s time you accept you can’t do anything about the situation, Jay! All that stuff you’re dreading happening? What the hell could you do to stop it?” Jason looked away, biting his lip. “Yeah, that’s right. Nothing. If you don’t do something Mask wants someone else will and there’s no way to get around that right now. All your being around him is doing is making it more stressful for  _ you _ .”

He went quiet and watched as Jason digested his words. He could see the other man’s jaw clenching and unclenching as he thought. If this didn’t convince him, Roy had other points. But he didn’t want to bring up how Jason looked run down and, though he’d never met Dick, he’d heard enough to know seeing Jason that stressed would only worry him. He would if he had to, though. Sometimes Jay was too stubborn for his own good.

“You don’t have a choice to refuse,” he reminded Jason when the silence got a bit too unnerving, and he started to wonder if Jason was just working up to a passionate punch in the face. “The sooner you accept that the easier this will be.” 

It sounded harsh, but it was the way it was. The way it had been for years now. Roy knew it and, deep down, Jason knew it too. 

That’s why he wasn’t surprised when Jason nodded and backed off, but the man still didn’t look convinced. Anger and distress lingered in his eyes. As he settled back onto the couch, Roy realized with mild horror that he would now have to deal with a brooding, sulky Jason who was awake at the same time as he was. 

Roy grabbed a random fork - though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit pleased to see that he’d grabbed the one with an annoyingly chipped prong - along with two beers and dropped down on the couch next to Jason. He handed him the takeout and his phone. Jason opened the container and mindlessly stabbed at the noodles. He took a beer once Roy had cracked them open against the coffee table.

Roy resisted the urge to sigh as Jason ignored him otherwise. Sure, Jay wasn’t usually talkative, but there was usually  _ something _ . At least some recognition of the fact that he’d just given up his damn dinner to try to make Jason a bit less annoying. But nope. Apparently he wasn’t forgiven for his suggestion, even when Jason admitted he was right. 

The silence once again spread between them and again, Roy caved first.

“You should go,” he suggested. “A couple of drinks could probably do you good.”

Jason frowned at his phone. Roy was getting sick of this. Now he did sigh. “You could probably get some information after the first couple drinks. Loose lips and all.”

Jason took up his phone with one hand and stared at the invitation to join Benson, Eaton, and Jones for a drink as a send-off of sorts. He typed out a response, then shoved his phone into his pocket angrily. He stabbed at the cheap lo mein. “You’d better be right.”

“Oh, because you have so many ideas right now.” Roy rolled his eyes as he got back up to finish up the dishes - especially now that he had to make his dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sm for all your comments and kudos; they absolutely make my day! I'd love to hear what you're thinking about this so far. 
> 
> Next chapter is...half written? I think? We'll see.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Have some Tim

Tim was careful as he picked his way down to the shoreline. It was slow going; he tested each foothold, easing one shoe out and pressing his weight on it until he felt sure it was solid. The kelp-covered rocks were still wet from the earlier rain and his foot slipped a couple of times, making his breath catch in his throat a way it hadn’t before, back when Dick had been living in the bay. He’d always been sure then that if he’d fallen in, all he’d had to do was yell for help, and the mer would come. If he fell now, though, the best thing a yell could bring was a beating, and Tim knew there were far worse things that could come with it.

But if Batman wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d have to search himself, and so, slowly and surely, he was making it down. If he was right, if something  _ had  _ happened to Dick, it was worse than a bump on the head or a hurt foot.

The slope started to level out and he slowed further as his objective approached - the rock he’d watched Dick meet the mystery man on several times. It felt odd to approach it openly instead of trying to sneak around it, and it felt even odder when he actually took a step onto it. 

He took a second to just look around himself, scanning the surface. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw small bits of scale, snagged or shed, crushed against the rock and glistening, though none were big enough to confirm that was what they were. It didn’t matter, though. He’d stared at this place for more than enough hours to know exactly where he was. Dick had sat right here, curling up on the man’s left side far more often than his right, with his back to the sharp rise behind him. And now it was Tim, crouching down and running his hand across the wet rock to see if any of those maybe-scales dusted his fingers a certain shade of bright blue. There was nothing. 

Tim’s stomach sank at the notion that Dick may have literally disappeared without a trace. Nothing would have tied him to this rock if Tim hadn’t seen him. There was no sign of all the meet-ups he knew had happened here, or the lazy times the mer had just hung out and lounged. It looked exactly the same as before the mer had found it. And it was also the only place he knew for a fact Dick had visited.

That was why he was here tonight. He’d tried hanging out in some parts of the city to see if he could spot the man, but he’d been kidding himself to think that would produce any results; Gotham was too big for the man to just wander by him. But it had been something that made him feel like he was trying, and it was the best he’d managed until it had occurred to him to check out the place where he’d last seen Dick.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before, but at the same time, until tonight, this had always been Dick’s space. It belonged to the mer, a man from an entirely different realm, and it felt like there had been a little ethereal bubble around it. Even when the stranger had intruded, it had still been Dick’s. That was gone now, though, as Tim crouched down and tried to look over the rock with his flashlight. 

There were no signs of a fight, no blood or unnatural scrapes in the stone, or even ripped up bits of kelp to show someone had tried to hold on. He ran his hand again across the surface, and again inspected his fingers. Nothing.

Water from a particularly sharp wave managed to land on the back of his neck, somehow getting itself right underneath his coat collar, and he was in the middle of wiping at it when a realization dawned on him. He turned sharply back toward the water. It was like the icy cold of the droplets had given his brain a jump-start, and it had been revived.

He was such an idiot! If Dick had been staying in the bay, he  _ had  _ to have a place here. Nobody really knew much about mers’ sleeping habits, but surely Dick had set up some sort of space to call his own during his time here. And it would make the most sense for it to be somewhere relatively safe, hidden or closed off. Tim was pretty sure he remembered reading somewhere that there were a couple of caves alongside the coastline.

It wasn’t until he was in the water that he realized how stupid this could be. It was night, literally no one knew where he was, and he wasn’t even sure he’d find something. He also hadn’t taken into account how cold the water would be as it rushed over him and he swam to the drop off. 

At the same time, he considered, pulling himself down the rock shelf and feeling for any potential entrances, shining his flashlight on the nearby rock, he wasn’t a  _ terrible  _ swimmer. And the water wasn’t really all that cold, not once his body had the chance to adjust to it.

He still found himself surfacing more frequently than he would have liked. It wasn’t long before his arms and legs were starting to ache from the swimming and something in his chest was tightening. He hadn’t found anything, but he was  _ sure  _ he was right. Dick had to have a home around here somewhere. And his gut told him he’d try to stay as close to his favorite place as possible. 

So back he went. 

He was doing his best to stick to a grid search. It wasn’t too deep so he could eliminate columns quickly, each maybe five feet wide. He fell into a pattern: search one column on the way down, and the next one over on the way up. Breathe. Rinse. Repeat. 

He surfaced again and sucked down a gulp of air. The water was getting deeper. He’d find it soon, he was sure. He’d watched how much Dick liked to sun, or how he liked to curl into the man’s body heat. Dick liked to be warm. So he wouldn’t have gone deeper than he needed to, because, as Tim found out, Gotham’s water got colder  _ fast.  _

He was halfway through the next column when he found it nestled in the beginnings of a kelp forest he hadn’t realized existed. He wasn't able to see below him at all and relied completely on touch. He moved to press his hand against the rock and it simply slipped through shadowed water. He hooked his fingers around the lip and used aching shoulders to pull himself down and in, then let his buoyancy carry him up the other side. 

He broke through with a gasp and a smile. He took a second to just look around, the beam of his flashlight crossing collections of small items strewn across the cave floor, before he let out a triumphant whoop. A disbelieving laugh followed it. They echoed back on each other as he swam over to the rock ledge. He had been so sure, but he still couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.

He collapsed on the rock. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and he was sore. He was also kinda cold. Definitely out of breath. 

He turned his head to the side to look at the item closest to him. Part of him said this was an invasion of privacy, going through the mer’s stuff, but it was sitting right in front of him and he was curious. So he let his eyes scan over the collection of hermit crab shells, all laid out neatly but with no clear order to them. There didn’t really seem to be any trend either. Each shell was completely different from the last, some chipped and some polished, some multicolored and others plain.

He reached out to grab one that looked oddly textured but his hand hovered over it for a second. He quickly pulled it back. Too far. That was one step too far. It was one thing to stand where the mer had sat or find his home; it was another to touch his personal items. There was no need to. He had no excuse except curiosity, and he forcefully bit that back. 

He stared at the shells until he regained his breath, and then sat up to look at the rest of the cave. It really wasn’t that big, he realized as he swept the light around it. There was a small dip in the rock ledge in the center, making it more of a gentle slope than the drop-off that Tim had entered through, and most of the items seemed clustered around it. Tim was willing to bet that that was where Dick slept. 

Tim was about to continue the sweep when his eyes caught a flash of color among the items, and he leaned down to pick it up before he could think twice. It wasn’t a natural color, not for an item and certainly not without light to highlight it. The oddness compounded when he sat back on his heels, feeling something worn, almost like cloth, rub between his fingers. 

He shivered in the cold, holding up the flashlight. 

It took him a minute to process that it was a picture. It wasn’t cloth, but paper. Not good paper, or photo paper, but plain printer paper, worn down by the cave’s humidity and oils from Dick’s fingers. He looked around to ensure he was alone, discomfort coiling in his gut even as he turned back to the image. 

Dick was holding the camera, face turned around to look over his shoulder. He was grinning, eyes glittering and focused on the man behind him. The stranger was in the middle of lunging forward, hand reaching out for the camera as he surged across Dick’s tail spread between them, but he didn’t see angry. Tim could have sworn he could see a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

It had been taken out on the rocks, the same spot Dick always met that man, but Tim had never seen them be quite so candid with one another when he was watching. It felt like he was intruding on something, more than it ever had at the time, and part of him wanted to put the cave back the way he had found it, picture and all. To pretend he had never intruded.

But the other part looked back at the mer, at the grin, and remembered exactly why he was doing this. That was the part that found a small plastic bag on the floor, tucked the picture into it, and started off to Wayne Manor. Because if Batman was investigating this, he should have already been down there. He should have already found the picture, and taken it, and been using it to search for the mystery man’s face. But maybe with this, with  _ proof _ that Dick had been closer to the man than he had suspected, he could convince him to search.

Mr. Pennyworth opened the door for him when he knocked and led him to the cave without further question. Mr. Wayne was apparently back from patrol and researching something down there. Tim nodded and descended into the Batcave.

He was almost immediately greeted by a voice.

“Alfred - can I get...” Mr. Wayne caught sight of him as he reached the floor, and he trailed off. His features seemed to harden. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you don’t think Dick disappeared mysteriously, Mr. Wayne, but I do. And I was checking out down by the rocks, at the meeting spot I told you about, when I found Dick’s home. There wasn’t much, but I found this,” he opened his jacket pocket and took out the bag with the picture. He shoved it at Mr. Wayne, who looked surprised as he took it. “That’s not my bag, either; that was in there with it. So tell me why Dick would have kept this in his home but not taken it with him if he left. His cave is far enough away from the rock that he would have been safe to go back to it, and it’s deep enough, too. And I think it goes without saying this makes it clear he knew the man, just like I told you. Look at them! This isn’t a one time meetup, or twice, not with the way Dick seems comfortable around the guy. So why would he just leave like that?

“Something happened to him, Mr. Wayne, something bad. I’d stake anything on that. And if you don’t help me, then I’ll find out what it was for myself.”

Mr. Wayne’s lips were tight when Tim finished.

“You can help me,” he agreed, placing the image on the desk, “but one thing needs to be clear. You listen to me. No more late night excursions into Gotham. No more sneaking around, not without my say-so."

Tim smiled. Mr. Wayne held up a finger quickly. 

“And,” he said, “you have to call me Bruce.”

Tim nodded just as the clock opened again. Footsteps padded down the stairs, and, seconds later, Alfred turned the corner, tray in hand. Two steaming cups rested on it.

“Hot cocoa, sirs,” he offered. 

Tim reached up and gently took one off of the tray. It was pleasantly warm in his hands, and he let the steam waft into his face. “Thank you, Alfred.”

The butler turned from where he had moved, over to Bruce. A hint of a smile tugged at his lip. “You’re quite welcome, Master Timothy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sm to everyone who has left comments or kudos; you all make my day!


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